


Wolfskin Coat

by Alliswell



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Twist Quotes, Canon-Typical Violence, Dark!Katniss, F/M, Halloween Times Fic, Octoberlark 2019, One Shot, Serial Killers, Smut, dark!everlark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-15
Updated: 2019-10-15
Packaged: 2020-12-16 15:47:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21038699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alliswell/pseuds/Alliswell
Summary: Every year brings a slew of new and revamped urban legends, but maybe this one, is real enough.A modern ‘scarytale’ of Little Red Riding Hood and the Wolf, featuring CF quote: “You’re absolutely terrifying in that get up!” For the Octoberlak 2019 event on Tumblr.





	Wolfskin Coat

**Author's Note:**

> Unbetaed. 
> 
> All mistakes are mine. 
> 
> I do not own the THG or it’s characters. 
> 
> Thank you LovelyToTheBone for hosting Octoberlark, and taking the time to post daily prompts for us to play around with, you’re the best! 
> 
> Thank you WendyWobbles for coining the term ‘Scarytale’... I’m using it now 😊
> 
> Halloweeny tale.

> "_The small girl smiles. One eyelid flickers.  
_
> 
> _She whips a pistol from her knickers_.
> 
> _She aims it at the creature's head_
> 
> _And bang bang bang, she shoots him dead._
> 
> _A few weeks later, in the wood,_
> 
> _I came across Miss Riding Hood,_
> 
> _But what a change! No cloak of red,_
> 
> _No silly hood upon her head._
> 
> _She said, "Hello, and do please note_
> 
> _My lovely furry wolfskin coat."_
> 
> **Roald Dahl; Revolting Rhymes.**

Is a full moon night, cloudy and misty. Spooky and unnerving. The kind of night mothers warn their children about. The kind of night that bring memories of horrific, gory crime scenes to the town of Panem, and every year brings a slew of new and revamped urban legends misinforming and twisting the facts of years gone by and forgotten horrors.

It’s nights like this that staying home with mommy is social suicide amongst the older kids reaching a certain age, so everyone’s eager to show they’re no little chicken-shit, scaredy cats, certainly not afraid of a bit of fog in a starless night or mutts lurking in the dark waiting to rip someone to pieces.

Like moths to a flame, young people file in droves to the hottest spots in town; dressed to impress and ready to party. Real lambs pretending to be wolves, with fake fangs, soft bellies, and cardboard claws duct-taped to their hooves just to build up the illusion.

Abernathy’s is the current ‘cool’ meeting place. Nobody knows why; maybe is the old school pinball machines in the back room, or perhaps the bowls of Cheetos at the bar instead of the usual peanuts from other establishments meant for patrons to nibble on while waiting for a beverage; most certainly, it could be the fact that Abernathy himself is usually drunk within an inch of his life, and pretends he cards people before serving them booze, but really doesn’t care if you’re a minor as long as your cash is real. Another mystery is the fact that cops never bother to bust Abernathy’s for potentially serving spirits and alcohol to minors.

Good or bad, Abernathy’s is packed to the gills with young people mingling and drinking cheap beer. Everyone who’s anyone and even those who aren’t, are here.

A petite brunette sneaks unnoticed into the bar. She glides on swift feet like a shadow, quiet and ignored. She smirks to herself when she stands in the middle of the crowd, yet remains untouched, unbothered, overlooked by all.

And why would anyone give her a second glance, dark and small as she is? She wears skinny jeans with smooth olive skin peeking through holes cut up on the denim on her thighs, combat boots, and a red hoodie that obscures her gray, bright eyes. The only remarkable thing about her is the thick plait of dark hair snaking out of her hood and over her shoulder, and even _that_ is not much to look at.

The girl twirls the end of her braid around her fingers, like she hasn’t a care in the world. But her eyes are busy, scanning the room with calculated precision, ticking off items in her mind’s list with her fingers every time she finds one. And then, she finds something— some_one_, rather— that makes her stop dead in her tracks.

‘Not him!’ She groans in dismay.

But it’s no use, and she knows it.

It doesn’t stop her from being aggravated, angry and hurt. At the same time, there’s a thrilling sensation at the prospect of the night unfolding before here eyes. All the possibilities, and all she needs to do is get on with the program.

A blonde fellow, not much older than the brunette— all muscles and blue eyes— stands casually to one side of the cramped bar.

He’s decked out in all black, except for the plain white, V-neck, T-shirt under his fur-lined leather jacket. His big bad boy reputation precedes him, despite never actually done anything to earn the rap, except wearing a gruesome scar that runs from his temple to his chin, twisting his lip in an intimidating grimace.

The girl chews on a wad of gum, blows a bubble, pops it loudly catching eye rolls from a few people who only spare an annoyed glance in her direction and then forget all about her. She knows the obnoxious habit makes her notorious, but it was either chewing gum or vaping, and since her daddy had been slowly dying from a nasty case of black lung before being suddenly ripped away from her in a worse fashion, inhaling anything into her lungs— be it cigarette smoke or flavored steam— is out of the question. She considers smoking too close to black lung for comfort.

Meanwhile, the fellow who caught her eye pretends to drink from the bottle in his fist. Only the bartender’s aware the kid has been nursing the same bottle of beer for an hour. The liquid is likely warm and gross by now, but barkeep says nothing about it, at least there’s one kid aware of his limitations in this shitty hole.

One thing blondie cannot disguise, is the way his blue eyes follow the brunette wherever she goes since the moment she stepped foot into Abernathy’s. He recognized the girl and can’t quite hide his surprise and elation at seeing her here, after all these years.

Though most people avert their eyes for fear or disgust, the brunette’s eyes had been trained on the guy, pretty much since he’s been watching her hawk-like.

The girl finds it odd, how much she actually enjoys his gaze on her. Normally she prefers to be ignored by everyone, but she welcomes his stare, craves it even, and encourages it with a coy smile directed his way.

At first he’s not sure the smile was meant for him, but after a second of searching his surroundings and confirming he’s the only one there she could possibly be smiling at, his heart gives a little, excited jolt. He’s more openly staring at her now. His eyes drinking her in from afar… It's more than simply gazing too. He’s lusting after her, really. But then again, he’s always had, in all honesty, ever since puberty anyway.

Back then, when they were tweens and in the same classes, he never plucked enough courage to say hello despite the massive crush he harbored for the girl. And then she disappeared after what happened to her father. He was afraid he’d never see her again, but he hoped… he hoped and waited. And now here she is, more beautiful than ever!

Blondie is still too stunned to move, so the girl takes it upon herself to bridge the gap, reaching out, not even a speck shy, which is new territory for her.

“Hello there, stud. Enjoying the view?” She teases, tilting her head to the side and cocking one hip to the other.

There really isn’t much of a view in the seducing department, considering the would-be seductress is not showing a lick of skin under her comfy outfit— other than what shows through the holes of her pants, that is— but the muscular blonde chuckles painfully anyway; even if the brunette had been wearing a burlap sack as clothing, we would’ve found her sexy as fuck. Hell, just her smoky voice makes his stomach bottom out, comparable to how he’d feel riding a rollercoaster.

“You have no idea, Sweetheart.” He mumbles, not quite bashfully.

A strange thought comes to his mind and nests there cozily, _Hearing her call my name in her sultry voice would be to die for. And oh! would I die a happy bastard, if it was the last thing I ever heard!_

The girl’s eyes shine, her smile promising and only for him.

A pool table clears.

“You play?” He asks, motioning to the wall where the cue poles hang from.

“I could be persuaded to a round or two,” She offers a smirk he wishes he could kiss away, then and there.

Instead, they play a round of pool, because is good foreplay.

He stands behind her, close enough her hoodie warms his chest and belly, where he’s unzipped his jacket to give his arms some extra range. His hands cover hers under the guise of teaching her to play, but they both know she needs no help.

Her daddy made sure she knew how to do things for herself: play pool, change a tire, keep a tune, punch a motherfucker in the mouth if he tried to get fresh with her, and hunting.

Oh yes, he taught her _hunting_; and _hunting_ she _does_.

But her nostrils are so full of the sweet scent of cinnamon and dill emanating from the blonde, she’s not about to tell him his technique is lacking.

No. She’s going to burrow further in, into his arms and soak up his warmth, the way her hoodie has failed to warm her up all night.

He on the other hand, let’s go of her hands, and places his on the curve of her hips so she can take her shot. After she sinks five balls with one push of her cue, he whistles long and low, bracing his hands on the smooth wood framing the table, the inseam of his pants tightens on his groin as his _admiration_ for her grows.

“I think I’ve been schooled just now.” He teases into her ear.

She turns in his arms, a genuine smile adorns her lips. “And your ego is not butt hurt?” She teases right back. Her fingers come up to follow his scar feather like.

The only reason he stays put, letting her caress his marked face is that her hoodie tips back, just enough he can see her sparkling gray eyes clearly for the first time tonight. He’s missed those silver pools so much, he forgets his disfigured face momentarily, and lives the bliss of her touch for a second longer.

Without thinking, he pins her further against the table under his body; when she smiles sweetly at him, he kisses her roughly. Desperately.

She opens her mouth willingly when his tongue prods the corner of her lips, and both of them groan when the kiss deepens. They only separate when the crowd around them starts hooting and cheering them on, turning rowdy enough, their attention threatens to kill the mood.

“Wanna get outta here?” He breathes out, shakily; still clutching her tightly to his body.

She’s been distracted by his intoxicating proximity all night, and though she’s loathed to end it already, she knows it’s time.

“Yes,” She purrs lowly, one hand rubbing his chest up and down, the fingers of her other hand inching around his waist towards the impossibly warm fur lining of his leather jacket.

“Let's go then… I just need to settle my tab first.” He says tugging her to the bar, wrapped closely to his chest.

“What do I owe you, old man?” Asks the boy impatiently.

Abernathy arches his brow, studying the both of them holding unto each other like a lifeline.

The old drunk grumbles under his breath, “Ain’t this precious? Little Red Hoodie dragging Big Soft Wolf to his den to ride him like a—”

“Haymitch, what the fuck?!” The blond yells genuinely angry, cutting off the man’s sentence before he can finish his thought.

Abernathy guffaws wheezily, before a bout of coughs takes over.

“The old fart isn’t wrong,” Says the girl suggestively, nibbling on blondie’s jaw before kissing it lightly, right were the jagged scar ends.

The blond’s about to sputter a response, but it gets lost when a big round of cheers boom from the pool tables. Some meathead bumps chests with another, before high fiving each other, and the whole house goes up in an uproar.

The brunette leans away from her companion to apply chapstick to her luscious lips, while he pays his bill.

He stares hungrily at her mouth, while she smacks her lips together to spread the balm evenly.

“You done?” She asks noticing his attention is on her again, fixing him with a deliciously sinful gaze under her eyelashes.

He nods, eyes almost black with lust. He can’t wait to taste her plump lips again. He can’t wait to taste other parts of her, he won’t allow his mind to name, for fear he’ll lose his shit prematurely.

“Come on, then.” She says dragging him by the hand, and into the darkness they go.

Once at his place, blondie finds out the brunette’s kisses are poison.

Venom that paralyzes and robs him of will.

He lays on his back, twitching and spasming. Those lips of hers just left his hard cock a minute ago, but he feels the effect even now, turning his blood into liquid fire. His naked groin, scantily covered with his sheets, ache for her.

She hovers above him, straddling his powerful thighs. She’s let her hair loose, and finger combs the long, silky locks above him for a moment.

His dimming blue eyes can’t stop drinking in the sight of her. He’s mesmerized by her hair,l; her pert, round breasts; the way her eyes shine when she looks down at him.

He remembers how soft, smooth and tempting her tits felt in his hands five minutes earlier. He remembers the way she mewled when he kneaded her flesh gently and rained kisses on her hard nipples. She begged for more, and he obliged happily, but now his arms are tied above his head, and he can’t touch her delectable skin or nuzzle his nose into the valley between her perfect tits.

He sighs longingly. “Are you gonna finish me off, Sweetheart, or are you just sit there looking like a teasing goddess? Not that I mind being teased by you.” He drawls with a goofy smile on his face. “I just wanna know how’s this gonna work out for me.”

She scowls down at him and stops messing with her long hair.

They both know she’s not done with him yet, but she’s in no hurry to end things.

“Why did you have to be wearing that jacket?” She asks angrily, placing her hands on his thighs. “Now you’ve left me no choice!” She growls, her fingers caressing his leg an inch higher, towards his aching erection.

“I’ve been wearing it every full moon, when the fog is thick and the stars go dark.” He whispers softly. “For him... you know.”

She knows.

It doesn’t change a damned thing, except maybe, she can’t detach herself from the moment like she always does, and she hates him for it.

She huffs and straightens back, taking her hand away from his crotch. “Is the same one Daddy wore, isn’t it?” She accuses.

“You got me.” He smiles weakly. “Well… his was brown, and mine is not. I got it dyed.” He wants to say something about how it’s supposed to evoke the color of her hair, but he can’t quite make it work right, without sounding like a creep. “You can have it though. I got it back for you anyway. I know you’ve been... _collecting_ the ones from the others…” He trails off.

“What did you do?” She asks meekly. Suddenly she’s twelve years old again, on a foggy, full moon night, scared and cold.

He shrugs and looks away, clearly not proud of himself. “I got bigger. Stronger. Followed clues, tracked down leads, threw some punches, and finally tore a faded, scuffed and dirty leather jacket from a hook on some junkie’s wall.”

“Why?” She repeats aggravated. A wayward tear threatens to fall from her eye; she fondles his sack in punishment instead, making him hiss.

“I thought the reason was clear.” He counters teasingly.

“Why?!” She’s almost deranged in her screech.

“You know why! For you. Because I was finally able to do something of worth, stand up to the bullies and get back part of what they took from my girl!”

“But… Why were you wearing it?” She begs more than asks. She pinches his nut sack on a childish impulse.

“The better to guide you to me with.” He hisses painfully, wincing when she pinches him again. “The better to ensure you’d notice me.”

“You damned fool!” She scoots forward roughly, and taps his quivering stomach with her fingernails. “I’ve always noticed you. I’ve always seen you. Now you’ve forced my hand and you’re at my mercy!”

He chuckles lightly. He’s getting lightheaded. “Well, little red, I’m yours. Always had been. The question is, now that you have me, what will you do with me?” He tries for levity.

She rips the sheets away from his body. His cock straining hard. She takes a hold of him and gives him a pump. Two. Three. He grunts twisting in his restraints. She lowers her mouth to his ear and rises her hips over his.

“Imma put you inside of me, for starters. Somewhere you can’t get hurt ever again, even after I’ve killed you.”

She sinks onto him slowly.

They hiss together, she for being so full and complete, he for being enveloped in her moist warmth. Together at last, where they belong.

She exhales and inhales deeply, trying to get used to his girth. After a moment, she starts moving rhythmically up and down his shaft.

“Damn you!” she says changing the tempo and angle. “I never wanted to hurt you. You were supposed to stay safe. Away from me.” She says raggedly, bouncing on him hard and fast.

“Fuck, Katniss… but you’re all I’ve ever wanted.” With his last ounce of strength, he pushes up into her greedy warmth, and watches her fall apart on his stiff rod.

“Peeta!” She cries out. “Peeta, you fool!” She cries out long and loud. Her fingers stumble on the knot at his wrist, until his arm is free.

He can’t believe she remembers his name. After all, he figured she’d tried to forget all about that awful night. Yet, here she is, impaled on his cock, moaning his name. Something tells him that when his corpse gets found the next day, he’ll be sporting a wide smile on his face.

She sobs suddenly, collapsing on his chest, spent and heartbroken. “I hate that you wore that stupid jacket, Peeta. I hate that you gave yourself up for me again.”

This feels worse than when she saw her father get mugged and murdered by some punks going after his jacket in a dark, dirty alleyway on a cold, foggy, starless night.

“It’s okay, Sweetheart. Do what you must, baby. Nobody needs me anyway.”

“I do.” She moans, “I need you!”

She flips onto her back, yanking his heavy body on top of hers. His dick falls out of her pussy in the process, but her legs spread apart and she shimmies under him until he can realign himself with her opening, and now, is his turn to sink deep into her, like dead weight.

“I need you. I need you. I need you.” She chants while he moves shallowly above her.

“You have me. I’m yours, baby.” He grunts back into her neck, spilling his load deep inside her.

“Stay with me,” She begs meekly.

“Always,” He promises.

* * *

It’s a full moon night. Cloudy and misty. Spooky and unnerving. The kind of night that brings memories of horrific, gory crime scenes and their copycats. Scenes like the one about the man murdered for his brown leather jacket on a dark alley, behind a bar.

The man’s only prayer, that his attackers wouldn’t notice his little girl was huddled behind a dumpster a foot away. They would’ve followed his fearful gaze to her hiding spot, if not for the blond boy that rushed into the alley and started throwing wild kicks and bites, screaming at the top of his lungs for the beaten man to run, save himself.

The man died from a knife wound to the gut, with his eyes trained on his daughter, begging her to stay hidden. The boy was left for dead too, beaten and bloodied at the mouth of the alley, his only companion a gruesome gash, bleeding down his once angelic face.

A passerby saw the boy and called the police.

Nobody knows what happened to the man’s daughter. But every year brings a slew of new and revamped urban legends, like the one saying the police found the little girl lying across her father’s corpse, her once white hoodie now stained red from her daddy’s blood. Some rumors say she grew up resenting the world, hating young men wearing leather jackets at bars. Her daddy now gone, couldn’t keep her from seeking revenge anymore, so she would lure the men in jackets into the alley behind the bars, kill them, and steal their coats.

But those are only legends. Nobody puts stock on tall tales; after all, wouldn’t people notice a young woman in a red hoodie luring men to their deaths during foggy, moonless nights?

A brunette sidles up to the bar at Abernathy’s; her long braid snakes out from under her hood and drapes over her shoulder, where she twirls the tip of it around her fingers. She blows a bubblegum and pops it obnoxiously, causing the new bartender to lift his sea green eyes from the screen of his phone. But what’s new? Nobody ever notices the tiny woman in front of them until she pops her bubblegum.

The man is too good looking to be working in crappy hole like this one, but he’s got a wife and kid to feed, and Abernathy’s is just about the hottest spot for partygoers in the town of Panem, and old drunk Abernathy pays better than anybody could guess.

“Hey there, girly!” The barkeep greets with a wide grin. His eyes sweep over her for a second, and one of his eyebrows tick up in mild surprise. “So… no more little girl red hoodies?”

The girl smirks. “I outgrew them,” She says patting down her protruding belly, neatly hidden under the large fur-lined leather jacket hanging comically from her lithe frame. “But, what do you think of my new wolfskin coat?”

“You’re absolutely terrifying in that get up, KitKat.” The barkeep tells her with a wink.

“Good!” Interrupts a blonde man standing behind the brunette. His large hands taking residence on her waist. “They say it came straight from a big bad wolf, you know.”

The bartender laughs heartily. “I wouldn’t doubt it.”

“What do we owe you, Odair?” The blonde asks reaching for his wallet.

“Nothing. Tonight’s on the house.” All three of them turn to face old Abernathy, who salutes then by tipping back his flask from one of the stools at the bar. “Now get outta here. I don’t care if you’re celebrating the anniversary of your miraculously surviving spunky red’s attack, I ain’t getting busted for serving booze to a pregnant woman!”

They all share a knowing look, but the couple leaves without protest, placing a large wad of money in the barkeep’s tip jar.

It’s hard to believe that fifteen years earlier, behind that very same bar, a man was murdered, his little daughter’s hoodie got stained with his blood, and a kid would get a scar on his face that would tarnish his good boy reputation. But, those are just urban legends mothers warn their children about.


End file.
